


Chivalry

by lotsofbigangrybees



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn, Trans Female Character, Trans Warden (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-01-26 14:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21375652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotsofbigangrybees/pseuds/lotsofbigangrybees
Summary: Ser Alistair is assigned as the personal knight to Princess Aliah Cousland, for better or for worse.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	1. New Assignment

“Father, this really isn’t necessary.” Aliah glared at her father from across the dining table, causing several servants to share a nod and vacate the room. King Bryce Cousland sighed, and swallowed a mouthful of potato. He glanced around at the members of the table, tonight was reserved for the royal family alone, no guests. It was a rare thing. To his left sat his wife, mother of his children, his queen, Eleanor. And at opposite sides of the table, eldest to the right, youngest to the left, sat his children. The eldest, Fergus, first in line to his throne, the pride of Ferelden. Skilled in combat, horse riding, and charming their allies. At twenty five he already a had wife and heir, albeit the girl was Antivan, she was kind and treated Fergus well, as he did her. Next to the queen, however, sat his youngest. Aliah, as she had decided to be called. He could think of better names, but as soon as she had realised she had a say in how people would address her, it was out of his hands. In fact, most things regarding his daughter were out of his hands. 

“My dear, you are to turn twenty in the coming weeks, and are yet to be promised to a suitable companion-” Her eyes narrowed, and she curled her lip, about to speak. “Not that I am going to force you into a marriage, there is no need for an heir as of yet.” She relaxed slightly, but her eyes were still squinting, albeit slightly. 

“I know, father, and I thank both you and mother for being so kind as to not force me into a lifelong commitment with a complete stranger, regardless of how it worked out for dear Fergus.” His son rolled his eyes at this, sharing a look with the queen.

“Yes, quite. The point is, little one, that there are those who do not share the belief that you ought to be unwed. You are vulnerable. An engagement is not just for an heir, it is for safety. Yet, seeing as that is out of the question, I shall be assigning you a personal knight, with your permission or not.” 

“I already have Laurel!” Aliah pointed at the dozing mabari, who opened an eye briefly before huffing, and rolling away to face the fireplace. 

“Darling, you must understand, an unmarried princess, especially one of age, is left vulnerable to all sorts of things, you could be kidnapped or assaulted by an number of foreign powers!” Queen Eleanor spoke up, giving their daughter a look that said _ Please just say yes so we can go back to eating dinner. _

“I’m not _ vulnerable _ ! Besides, I’m sure the lovely kings and queens of Orlais and Nevarra and all the rest are hardly concerned with a dog lord’s daughter third in line for the throne! Killing me doesn’t do anything.” She pointedly shoved a particularly large slice of carrot into her mouth, chewing aggressively. _ Maker, give me strength. _Bryce looked pleadingly at Fergus, who was shuffling his food around, making a face every now and then. They met eyes, and he shrugged. 

“Sister, I can imagine having a knight everywhere with you will be difficult, but it would be better to be safe, would it not? Perhaps you could even befriend the lucky ser, since you are so desperate for friendship.” 

“_ Desperate for-” _ Her face screwed up again, like it had as a child. That wasn’t what he had meant to happen. Being a king and a father was a little too much sometimes. 

-

Aliah wanted to scream. She didn’t need a nanny. A personal knight was out of the question. Someone to watch the door while she bathes in case some unruly arl leaps in to kidnap her? Unlikely. She’d rather just take a knife in to the tub. Yet, when she thought about it, most of the girls her age had a knight. Well, she only knew one other girl, Anora. And they weren’t the same age. She was widowed though, which is different to just not being married. Her father could push all he liked, but she wasn’t going to walk around with some dolt in armor clunking around behind her like some lost puppy. Fergus hadn’t been particularly helpful, ‘_ desperate for friendship’ _, more like he was desperate for a slap in the face. It had been a tactful retreat to her rooms that had prevented that from happening. An exasperated huff, an angry glare, and a therapeutic slammed door. 

It had been a while since she had last had a good tantrum. Her silent room stared back at her, the candles recently lit by an elusive servant. She fell backwards onto her bed, gathering the blankets around herself. _ I don’t need a knight. We already have guards, I have Laurel. Fergus doesn’t need a guard, so why do I? _She stared at the ceiling, small cracks looking back down at her. Quietly, she reached down to check underneath her bed. It was still there. A greatsword, made of polished silverite, howling mabari engraved delicately upon the hilt. It was from a time when she could have been her own knight. She’d chosen a different path though, and her parents had made it clear it was one of no return. Gently, she rubbed her fingers over the engraving, mapping out the design. A soft knock on the door made her hand retreat quickly back up to the bed. 

“Come in.” It was a barely a grunt, but whoever was on the other side took it as an invitation. Oriana poked her head out from behind the wooden door, smiling when she met Aliah’s eyes. 

“Good evening, _ princesa _.” A slight Antivan accent paired with kind eyes had Aliah smiling back. Fergus’ wife was sweet, and their son Oren, even sweeter. A rare case of an arranged marriage between nobility working out well. Oriana was the only woman other than the queen that Aliah could talk to, who wouldn’t judge, who would only listen. Aliah sat, the blankets still cocooned, and patted the bed beside her, smoothing a place for her to sit. 

“I know I’m being childish.” Oriana smiled again, eyes crinkling. 

“Well, I was not going to point it out, so I thank you for saying it for me.” A delicate hand brushed a strand of hair out of Aliah’s face, before cupping her cheek. “I am sorry to say, but I do think your father is correct. Before I married Fergus, I was a prime target for the Antivan Crows, and whilst they do not operate in Ferelden, you must realise you are far more important than you believe. A well timed assassin, accompanied by a seemingly sympathetic rival, who could easily worm their way into your family’s grieving hearts? It is a common tactic.” The hand withdrew from Aliah’s face, and the princess’ shoulders sagged. “Not to mention your penchant for midnight escapades. A knight could accompany you, ensuring your safety, even if they had to do so from a distance. They don’t have to be your best friend. It does not have to go further than noble and servant, unless you wish it.” Maker be damned, but Oriana was right. It made sense from a political standpoint, from a safety standpoint, from an ‘it’s expected of you’ standpoint. 

“Fine. But don’t tell Laurel, she’ll get jealous.” 

“Of course not, _ princesa _, I shall inform your father.” 

“Tell him I was kicking and screaming.” 

“Naturally.” 

The door closed behind Oriana, leaving Aliah in silence again. 

\- 

The blacksmith’s hammer struck with precision, erasing any imperfections in the battered breastplate. Sparks flew into the air, accompanied by the salty odour of sweat and coal. Alistair leaned against a table near the back of the smithy, feeling rather naked without his armor. The heat of the smithy was causing sweat to form upon his own forehead, and he wiped it away with his sleeve. 

“You don’t have to stand there the whole time, ser.” The blacksmith yelled over the hammer strikes. 

“Oh-uh, of course. I’ll just step out for some air, if that’s alright.” The blacksmith gave him a strange look, but Alistair didn’t see it, already rushing out of the room in chase of some breathable air. The night was freezing, but it didn’t hurt his lungs. He ran his hand through his hair, dusting out some flakes of ash and coal that had settled there. He really wasn’t very good at this knight thing yet. It had been a lot easier in the militia, stand here, help that person, threaten that one. Being a knight seemed to be a lot of standing around trying to look noble, with your helmet visor down so that they couldn’t see your commoner face. 

He’d thought he would be reprimanded for stopping the scuffle in the market square, some drunkard had been swinging around a dwarven mace, stolen from the vendor who was yelling at him to give it back, causing all kinds of chaos. The militia had been dealing with something at the tavern, so they weren’t on call. His breastplate had sustained a dent, but the mace was returned and the drunkard detained. Ser Gilmore had given him a withering look, but told him to take the breastplate to the smithy, and to meet in the castle’s main hall as soon as possible. Presumably to have him stripped of his role as knight and sent to some nowhere village to guard a colony of nugs. So long as it wasn’t a colony of druffalo, they stunk. He looked up to the sky, smoke billowed up from the smithy, as well as from the houses within the town, lighting the first fires in preparation for the cool night. A few militiamen wandered past, on their way to an evening patrol. Alistair nodded at them in greeting, watching them somewhat jealously. They didn’t get in trouble for stopping drunkards in the streets. They didn’t have summons to the castle. Bastards. 

The smithy door creaked open, and the blacksmith jerked his head towards Alistair, beckoning him inside. 

“I’ve ironed out most of the dings, should be fine for now. Just don’t go trying to slay dragons and it’ll be fine.” He nodded, accepting the armor. It was still slightly warm to the touch. He adjusted the buckles, and headed for the main hall. 

Upon arriving, Alistair saw Ser Gilmore waiting, fiddling with his gauntlets. 

“Good. The King is waiting.” 

“The Ki- okay. That’s fine.” 

Sure enough, King Bryce Cousland sat at the end of the hall, upon a grand wooden throne. But he wasn’t alone. At his left stood a young woman, she couldn’t be older than Alistair himself. The princess. She was glaring at him, eyes narrow. Maybe she didn’t approve of her father’s knights helping dwarves? It was hard to say. 

“Ser Gilmore, Ser Alistair.” The two knights knelt, heads bowed. 

“Ser Alistair Theirin, rise.” Alistair glanced to Ser Gilmore, who nodded in confirmation. He exhaled, and stood. 

“A mere six months ago, you were knighted after your actions during a particularly trying bandit attack. Your service has been invaluable-” _ Has been? Nug colony it is. _“Yet I have no use for you in your current position.” Alistair inhaled, unsure of what exactly happened to banished knights, he looked at the ground, watching a beetle wander near his boot. 

“My lord, I understand-” Ser Gilmore looked up, confusion upon his face. 

“You are to be placed in the service of my daughter, to ensure her safety. “ Alistair’s eyes widened, whilst the princess’ only narrowed further, pursing her lips. 

“From this day forth, you shall follow her wherever she chooses to go, enter into the rotation of guards outside of her rooms, and protect her from any harm.” 

_ Great. _


	2. Roses

Aliah woke the next morning, soft sunlight filtering through a gap in the curtains. Laurel was snoring gently at the foot of her bed, a foot twitching every so often. A dress lay ready for her, and she dressed quickly, stopping only to pat Laurel as the mabari slowly woke, stretching her paws and groaning.

“Me too pups, but we’ve got to get up and face the day.” Large feet thudded onto the cold floor, but a little stumpy tail was wagging, which meant it was time for breakfast. 

She began to open the door, but it stopped against something, making a solid _ clunk _ . There were several more _ clunks _and a startled gasp before she could open the door fully. 

“My lady! G-good morning! Terribly sorry, I didn’t mean to get in your way, I hope you- uh slept… well?” Ah. Ser Alistair. Not exactly who she wanted to see first thing in the morning, but that was hardly his fault. He was grimacing at his own words, so at least he knew they weren’t necessarily welcome. 

“I slept fine, thank you ser.” Was all she offered as she started off down the hall. Alistair’s heavy footsteps could be heard echoing, bouncing off the stone walls. Every time his armor creaked she cringed. She chanced a glance behind at him, he was walking behind at a somewhat respectable distance, eyes flicking between the walls and ceiling. Out of idle curiosity, just to see what would happen, she stopped. The metal clanking continued, until he walked right into her. 

“You might like to look where you are going, ser.” She turned to look at him, his freckled cheeks were bright red, and he sprang backwards. 

“Of course! Apologies, my lady!” She gave a small smile, he would be fun to tease, at the very least. 

They arrived at the dining hall moments later, a small array of cheese, bread, and fruit available. She plucked an apple and sat down. Alistair stood awkwardly next to the door, hand resting on the pommel of his sword . 

“Have you eaten?” He jumped, and looked left and right before focusing on Aliah with a startled look. He shook his head, as if forgetting he could talk. “N-no, I’m not sure if-” He yelped as she lobbed a chunk of cheese at him. “Eat then, can’t ‘protect’ me if you faint, can you?” There was a murmured thank you, and something that sounded like: “I _ do _like cheese.” 

After breakfast she left Laurel to chase rats and went to the castle’s gardens. She ended up sitting on a bench beneath a tree, watching farmers in the distance cut wheat. Alistair was still standing, scuffing the dirt every so often. He didn’t seem very knightly. 

“Oh-well, sorry about that.” He grimaced. Oops.

“My apologies, I was thinking out loud, ser. All the other knights are old men who have seen enough battles to make them a little, odd. You are… Younger?” She winced. 

“It’s alright, you can say inexperienced, I won’t take offence, my lady.” He flushed again, looking anywhere but Aliah’s face.

“You might not take any, but maybe you ought to.” Perhaps it was a little harsh, but the man had the personality of a wet towel. 

“Understood, I am now currently, deeply, and irreparably offended.” She stared at him. “My lady.” He added, almost as if an afterthought. Maybe there was something underneath the surface after all. Aliah laughed, nothing more than an exhalation of air through the nose, but it seemed to make Alistair relax a little. Stretching, she stood and nodded to the rose garden, Alistair moved after her, armor clunking slightly more stealthily outside. 

The rose garden was constructed for the women of the royal family, meaning it was currently only used by her and her mother, Oriana preferring the library. Varieties of roses collected from across Thedas grew there, even some, remarkably, from the Tevinter Imperium. How they managed to survive the Fereldan winters was a mystery for the ages. A small fountain depicting a caring Andraste sat in the middle, with several benches and a small table. A chess set was upon the table, the pieces waiting for a new game. 

“Do you play?” It was a long shot, but there was a chance. 

“Chess? Unfortunately I’ve never had the chance to learn.” Of course. But all was not lost.

“I could teach you, if you wanted. It’s not too complicated.” And _ Maker _, but if a human could have a wagging tail, Alistair had found a way. They sat, and she began explaining the pieces. 

“Why is the king so weak?” Alistair asked, after a moment’s silence. 

“He’s more of a figurehead, it’s the people beneath him that do all the heavy lifting. It’s not dissimilar to real life, the people are doing the work, the pawns are fighting, the castles are protecting, the queen is manipulating. They do it all to protect the king, because even if they are all destroyed, the kingdom doesn’t fall until he does.” 

“That seems... “ 

“Blasphemous? He’s my father. I can make as many observations as I like.” 

“Can you now?” This time knight and princess alike jumped, as the queen swept towards the table, a smile playing upon her lips.

“Mother, I was simply discussing the rules of chess with Ser Alistair, how kind of you to join.” 

“Your father is locked in the study with Fergus, I thought I might inquire as to how you are getting along with Ser Alistair, given your reluctance to his assignment.” Alistair sniffed and cleared his throat, standing from his seat. Queen Eleanor immediately sat down, smiling at him, somehow managing to effectively communicate the message of _ ‘Go stand over there.’ _He stood near the gate to the garden, pretending to look thoughtfully into one of the rose bushes. 

“So, how has it been so far, dear?” Eleanor moved a pawn two spaces forward, locking Aliah into both a conversation, and a game. She shrugged.

“Mostly awkward. He ran into me this morning because he wasn’t looking where he was going.” She moved one of her own pawns. There was no hope of winning, both the conversation and the game, but it would be rude not to participate.

“He is young for a knight, that is true. But that was why I suggested him to your father. I could hardly see you getting along with some old, cynical patriot.” Aliah glanced over to where Alistair was standing, pretending to be every interested in the petals of a red rose. 

“He just doesn’t seem to have much, well, substance.” She sighed as her mother took one of her pieces.

“He’s quite the remarkable young man, I think you will find. I’m sure he will end up surprising you.” 

“But I’m still not sure of his use.” Alistair seemed to react to the statement, but was doing a commendable job of hiding it.

“Perhaps you ought to take him with you to the outer villages, on one of those escapades of yours. He might provide a new perspective.” Aliah frowned.

“How so?” Aliah sacrificed one of her castles in pursuit of a knight.

“That is where he hails from. Regardless, you can hardly stay cooped up here to spite your father. Get out and see your country before it becomes covered in snow, at the very least.” She raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t think you have ever tried to persuade me to leave the castle grounds, are you feeling alright?” 

“You have Alistair now, I trust he will protect you from harm, but it would not hurt for you to get to know him as well. He does have to follow you from now on, Maker preserve him.” 

“Very well, if you insist. I won’t go further than a half day’s travel, though.” 

“Andraste be praised, dear.” 

Her mother left, after that, and Alistair returned to the table, pretending he hadn’t heard the entire conversation. Aliah continued her explanation of chess basics, which Alistair listened to dutifully, asking questions when appropriate. After some time the sun shone directly into Aliah’s eyes, and she squinted.

“Shall we retire for lunch?” Alistair blinked. She looked at him pointedly.

“Oh! I mean, it is up to you, I do believe I take my lunch in the barracks, but I shall accompany you to the dining hall, my lady.” He stood and offered her his hand, which she took in slight confusion.

“Are we doing chivalry now, ser?” After she was on her feet, he withdrew the hand quickly, shaking his wrist.

“N-no? I just thought-” _ Does not take even the lightest of criticism well _. Aliah listed in her mental notebook.

“We can, if it makes you feel better. I could pretend to be in distress as well.” She brushed a leaf from her skirt and looked at him, a small smile upon her lips. More blushing and stammering, Alistair was an open book, it seemed.

“My lady, forgive me, but I cannot imagine you to be in distress.” Oh?

“How dear of you. Come, and if you don’t run into me this time, I may give you some more cheese.”

“You cannot bribe me with cheese! I’m not a mabari, to be trained!” Aliah raised one eyebrow. “Not that I would turn it down, per se,” She gave him a broad smile, and he sighed, following her out of the garden. 

Lunch, unlike breakfast, was in attendance by the whole of the family, along with a few of the king’s advisors. 

“Must Fergus leave with you? Surely an appearance in a foreign country is unnecessary, he has some time before he will be on throne.” The queen’s voice cut through the air, crisp. 

“Mother, I am yet to make an appearance outside of court, they must know I am following in Father’s footsteps, that I will continue the Cousland name, and it’s alliances, with respect. Besides, Aliah will still be here.” 

“I’m going to the outer villages tomorrow, with Ser Alistiar. Mother suggested I ‘walk’ him.” Fergus frowned.

“He’s not a dog, Aliah. He’s keeping you safe. Regardless, Mother will be fine. Ser Gilmore is staying at the castle.” 

“Where are you going again?” 

“Kirkwall. There have been increased reports of slaver ships crossing the Waking Sea, but they don’t land in Denerim or Highever. We are meeting with the Viscount to discuss the matter. And Fergus _ will _be coming with me, no matter what your mother says.” The king rumbled from the head of the table. “Ser Gilmore will keep you safe, my dear.” Eleanor huffed, but ceded.

“When do you leave?” Aliah asked, through a mouthful of mutton. 

“Within the hour.” Soon, then.

“I see. Mother, Ser Alistair and I will leave tomorrow morning, do not worry yourself.” 

“Me? Worry? Perish the thought, little one.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it really a dragon age fic if someone doesn't say perish the thought?


	3. Wardens

The sun was barely over the horizon, Denerim bathed in a soft orange glow. A farmer looked up at the sound of hoofbeats upon gravel, and watched two fine horses trot past. In the lead sat a young woman, skin the same rich brown as the tilled soil, hair twisted into a braid. She wore travelling clothes, yet they were of fine make. The second horse was ridden by a tall man in polished armor, a sword at his belt, strawberry blond hair ruffled by a chill, morning breeze. The princess, and her new knight. The farmer bowed his head in respect, receiving a nod from both riders in return. 

“If you don’t mind my asking, where exactly are we going, my lady?” Alistair called, over the snorting of his horse. 

“No further than South Reach. We will visit the villages along the road, inspire the people, lend a hand if needed, nothing too labour intensive though, mind you.” 

“I’m sure I can stand to help a few farmers, beats standing around in armor all day at the very least.” Aliah let out a small chuckle, raising her face to catch the early rays of sunlight. 

They rode for three hours before stopping at a small town, watching a trickle of people head towards a street filled with various stalls and vendors. 

“Care to investigate, ser?” 

“Uh, here? I’m sure there’s another perfectly quaint little town further along!” They halted outside an inn, and Aliah paused to read the sign. 

“What exactly do you have against uh- Wutherford?” The town seemed nice enough, it sat right between the definition of village and a proper town. If it were any bigger it might justify having its own arling, but it was small enough that it could operate independent from clear leadership. A cobbled street cut through a cluster of cottages, and it was along this street that a variety of stalls displayed their wares. Fresh produce filled many of them, but there were a few that held everyday items, small daggers, lengths of rope, farming equipment, and assortments of leather pouches. Alistair squirmed in his seat, his horse adjusting beneath his weight. Aliah looked at him expectantly. 

“You could say I- lived here, for a time.” 

“In Wutherford? I can’t say I know of it, outside of the name.” 

“It was the target of- some unpleasantries, not too long ago. I can’t imagine the King would inform you of it, my lady.” 

“Well, it’s safe now, at any rate. Let’s go. They might have little cakes, and I do so love little cakes!” Alistair sighed, but followed Aliah in tying the horses up next to a water trough near the inn. As it turned out, there were quite a few stores with little cakes, all made by the local bakery. Aliah bought a few, much to the delight of the store owners. In fact, her very presence seemed to delight the majority of the towns people. They reached the end of the street in a matter of twenty minutes, one side of stalls fully explored. 

“Shall we see what the other side has on offer?” Aliah asked, not looking back at her knight. A moment’s silence passed, with no reply. “Ser Alistair?” This time she turned, and saw Alistair looking at what appeared to be a large rock, standing upright at the end of the street. 

“What is it?” She put a hand delicately on his shoulder, so as not to alarm him. It didn’t work. 

“Maker! Oh- it’s nothing.” Aliah moved to get a better look at the rock. 

  
  


_ In memory of those who died protecting our humble town of Wutherford. _

A list of names followed, ending in a date, six years prior. Alistair lifted a hand and brushed one of the engraved names. _ Duncan. _It was one of the few left without a surname. 

“Duncan? Who was he?” 

“A good man.” Alistair’s voice was small, vulnerable. 

“He died well.” 

“He needn’t have.” Hesitantly, Aliah reached down to grasp Alistair’s hand. He looked down at her, eyes shining, full of withheld tears. 

“You could tell me about him, if you like.” 

“Duncan-he was like, he was like a father to me. He taught me how to hold a sword.” Aliah squeezed his hand, which was difficult through the gauntlets. “He wouldn’t let me help. He wanted to make a sacrifice, he liked being a hero.” She nodded, moving to brush away some dirt that had collected in the divots of some of the carvings. “In death, sacrifice, and all that.” 

“Like the Wardens?” 

“He brought me up on those stories, you know.” That was new information. This ‘Duncan’, was not only a father figure, but may have been closer to an actual father. “Let’s go.” Aliah let her hand drop, brushing it on her skirt. “There are still many stalls to explore, right, my lady?” He marched down the street, beckoning her to follow. 

The opposite side was remarkably quieter, the stalls mainly occupied by the local smithy and a woman selling trinkets. Aliah paused to look at the jewellery, sifting through an assortment of silver charms. One in particular caught her eye. 

“How much for the gryphon?” 

“My lady, you humble me, for you I should part with it for a mere fifty silvers.” 

“Would you be able to put it on a chain? I’ll pay double.” She took a large, gold coin from her purse, not missing the widening of the worker’s eyes. 

“At once, my lady.” 

Aliah placed the small package in her pouch, and left to find Alistair looking absent-mindedly at some daggers. 

“Anything good?” 

“Not exactly, I’m not looking to purchase, anyway.” Alistair turned, a sombre shadow still lingering. 

“Shall we return, then? I’d hate to be travelling in the dark for too long.” She offered him a cake which he graciously accepted, and they returned to their horses. “I got you something, ser.” He looked surprised, and took the brown package in one hand. 

“What for?” She shrugged, and tapped the package impatiently. He removed his gauntlets, and gently unwrapped the brown paper. “A necklace? Are you trying to get the other knights to bully me?” 

“For the love of Andraste, look at it properly.” 

“A-oh. A gryphon. Like the Wardens.” He smiled, and it was so genuine it made Aliah’s heart swell. 

“Here.” She took the silver chain and slipped it around his neck, fingers brushing the nape of his neck as she clasped it together. “I wasn’t sure if you had anything to remember him by.” Alistair’s cheeks flushed, and he put his hand over hers, skin to skin, this time. 

“Thank you.” 

“Well, that’s enough that, shall we head back?” Aliah slapped him on the shoulder, before turning to mount her horse, who was rudely awakened from a light doze. 

Alistair took the lead this time, and Aliah zoned out, watching the farms turn into forest in a warm afternoon glow. 

It was after another three hours of solid riding that Aliah snapped back into reality, after a lovely daydream involving running her own little bakery in Wutherford, that she realised she didn’t recognise her surroundings at all. 

“Ser Alistair?” No response. “Alistair?” He couldn’t be looking at another stone monument, and she could see him riding ahead. She egged her horse into a trot, in an effort to catch up. “Ser Alistair?” The third time, his head snapped up. 

“Yes! Hello!” His head swung around, until his eyes fixed on Aliah. They were bleary. With sleep. 

“Do you happen to know where we are?” The sun was setting, and a cool breeze rustled through the forest path. 

“On our way back to- oh. I’m afraid not, my lady.” 

“I see. Did you at least sleep well?” They halted, and Aliah looked around, trying to remember which forest exactly they might be lost in.

“I-oh dear. I am, deeply, deeply sorry, my lady.” She raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Within a few hours it will be dark, and I have no clue where we are. I don’t think apologies can help us here.” She dismounted, and led her horse to the side of the path. “Unless you know of any convenient settlements nearby, we ought to make camp. I’m not travelling through the night.” 

It didn’t take long to find somewhere relatively sheltered, a small copse of sturdy trees, surrounding a flat-ish surface with only a few rocks. The sun only set further, bathing the landscape in an orange glow. Whilst he might not be good for riding in the lead, Alistair could at least get a small fire going. He sat on one of the rocks, back to the fire, sword at his side. 

“Lay down, I’ll keep watch. Who knows what’s in these woods.” Aliah sat on the ground beside his rock-chair. 

“Nonsense, I couldn’t trust you to stay awake whilst riding, how can you stay up sitting still?” 

“I-I didn’t mean to-” 

“It’s fine.” They sat in silence for a while, jumping at each snapping branch, every flap of wings. Aliah felt herself growing drowsy, the warmth from the fire and the soft fabric of her cloak inviting sleep. But she wouldn’t leave Alistair to brave the night alone.

“I don’t think I actually know the full story- of the Warden I mean.” She broke the silence. 

“Oh? Duncan was fascinated by them. I must have heard it at least a thousand times.” Alistair chuckled, watching the space between trees intently. Aliah glanced up at him, watching the light of the fire dance across his features. 

“Would you tell me?” Alistair met her eyes, his own crinkling at the edges as he smiled.

“Of course, my lady.” He cleared his throat dramatically, and began. 

“Many ages ago, a dark evil lay below the surface of Thedas. Further than the dwarven kingdom of Orzammar, lurking in the vast and largely uncharted Deep Roads. Darkspawn, horrific, violent creatures carrying the Taint-” 

“Sorry, carrying the _ what _?” 

“Maker’s breath- carrying a _ corruption _ known as the Blight. Every so often, the monsters would venture above ground, lead by an Old God. They sought to destroy everything, and create their own gruesome kingdom.” 

“I think that’s just what Tevinter was like back then.” 

“Are you going to listen, or are you just here to make jokes?” Alistair huffed. “My lady.” Grinning, Aliah patted an armored knee in apology. 

“Forgive me, do go on.” She coughed. “My lord.” 

“For the- never mind. As I was saying, the Grey Wardens were an order of the mightiest warriors and the brightest mages. They came from all walks of life, from the lowliest thieves to the most noble of kings. Each time the Blight threatened Thedas, the Wardens would beat it back, slaying the Old God and sending the beasts back to the most forgotten caverns of the Deep Roads. The story of the Warden, takes place during the Fifth Blight, in the midst of the Dragon Age.” 

“Alistair?” 

“Yes, my lady?” 

“Do you think the Wardens were real?” Alistair furrowed his brow. 

“It’s hard to say. There _ is _a fortress in the Anderfels that is said to have been their headquarters, but there aren’t many physical records. They were apparently quite secretive. As for the Blight, I think we’d know if there were corrupt Old Gods sitting underground, unless the dwarves are just really good at keeping quiet.” 

“Well, if one is real, surely that confirms the existence of the other, doesn’t it?” Aliah poked the ground with a stick, the air growing colder as night fell. Alistair scrunched his nose, letting a moment of silence pass, unfilled aside from a distant, croaking frog.

“I guess so. But I don’t know about that. I _ do _know this story though, so I’ll stick with that.” Metal and leather creaked as he stretched atop the rock. 

“The story begins in the Brecilian Forest, with the Dalish clan of Sabrae. Two of the clan’s hunters were tainted by a poisoned mirror, an artefact of the ancient elves that had fallen to the Blight. One of the elves disappeared, never to be seen again, but the other lived, and because of that strength, he was summoned to Ostagar, to join the Grey Wardens. Warden Mahariel, one of the few Dalish to leave their clan and be inducted into the Order. He was to fight alongside the King’s men, and the small in number, yet mighty, Wardens of Ferelden.” 

“But the battle went wrong, didn’t it? There’s a curse about Ostagar, Father says. No battle fought there has ever ended honorably.” Alistair raised his eyebrows. “Well?” 

“There was a betrayal. The King’s most trusted advisor told the reinforcements to flee, right when the Wardens and the King needed them most. They all perished, aside from a few lucky stragglers.” 

“Including Warden Mahariel, I’m guessing.”

“Yes, but he wasn’t alone. Another Warden was spared, the youngest of the Order, Warden Theirin.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“My lady!” 

“You’re not my mother, Ser Alistiar _ Theirin _. No wonder you like the story so much! It must be an excellent ego boost.” Alistiar flushed, and looked at the ground.

“Well, yes, but it’s a good story in its own right, and if I like to think my possibly fictional ancestor saved Ferelden, where’s the harm in that?”

“Fine, but if you start thinking about slaying Old Gods I’m finding a new knight.”

“Fair enough. The two Wardens were saved by the Chasind witch of legend, Flemeth. She mended their wounds and sent them to stop the growing Blight, and to thwart the traitor, who placed himself on the throne.” 

“What? Just the two of them?” 

“Well, some say they had a band of trusted followers. The daughter of Flemeth, who was a wily shapechanger, an Orlesian spy, a Qunari soldier, an Antivan assassin, a mighty golem, a kindhearted spirit mage, a cast-out dwarf, and of course, Warden Mahariel’s trusted mabari.” 

“Well, that’s a diverse group. At least there’s a mabari. Never a good story without a mabari.” Aliah thought of Laurel, back in Denerim, probably curled up next to the fire after stealing some fat trimmings from Nan. Alistair hummed in agreement. She patted his knee again, “Do go on, before I fall asleep.” 

“They had treaties binding the people of Ferelden to aid them. The treaties were signed by the Arl of Redcliffe, the dwarves of Orzammar, the Dalish elves, and the mages of the Circle. First, they gained the support of the Dalish, by ending a powerful curse caused by the clan’s own Keeper. Next, they gained the support of the Circle’s templars, by freeing the Circle of maleficar.” 

“I thought they were supposed to get the mages’ help, how come they got the templars?” Aliah frowned, looking at the mabari she had sketched into the dirt.

“That’s actually something I can answer. The Circle was annulled. All the mages were either made Tranquil, or killed. It happened in real life, too. It’s why the Circle is mostly abandoned now. A blood mage took control, and turned even the First Enchanter into an abomination.” 

“I know that, I just- hoped that maybe a legendary Warden would have chosen a different solution.” 

“I’m not sure there’s much else you can do with maleficar, especially once they get all demon-y.” 

“I guess, but- there had to be kids there as well right? It just doesn’t seem fair.” 

“Maker, but what is fair? Afterwards, they left for Redcliffe, where a sick Arl and an undead army prevented them from receiving aid. The Arl’s son had been possessed, and was keeping the Arl in a deep slumber, whilst raising the dead and attacking the village. Convinced by the Warden, the Arlessa stuck down her own son, for the survival of the kingdom.” 

“I’m sure the mages would have been able to help. Seems a little wrong, making a mother kill her own child.” 

“But unfortunately, that’s not the story. To cure the Arl, they needed the Sacred Ashes. They travelled to Haven and battled members of a dragon cult, even taking down a high dragon, to locate Andraste’s resting place. With the Arl cured, they went to secure the aid of Orzammar. They traversed the Deep Roads, the den of their enemy, to find a Paragon who could crown a leader for the torn city. With the strength of four armies, and the support of several noble houses, they ousted the traitor, and prepared to face the horde of Darkspawn, which was soon to march upon Denerim.” Alistiar paused as he felt a weight on his leg. It was Aliah, head resting against his plate armor, fast asleep. He prepared to move her, but she grumbled and groggily swatted his hands away. Sighing, he gathered his travelling cloak and fashioned it into a makeshift pillow. Barely conscious, the princess clambered further into his lap. Alistiar blushed, running his finger over the gryphon charm around his neck, and grasped his sword more firmly, staring ever so slightly more intently into the darkness. 

“And they lived happily ever after.” He whispered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *tips helmet* m'lady
> 
> also this got long oops  
and most of it is talking uh oh


	4. Lothering

Tales of fearsome warriors clad in silver and blue haunted Aliah’s dreams, a nation torn apart by the very person who ought to have protected it, left at the mercy of grotesque beasts. She held her greatsword, the carved mabari flashing in the light of burning buildings, and trembled as  _ something  _ roared in a tongue older than time itself. On her left, a strawberry blond head brandished a shield, standing strong, but tears rolled down his cheeks. She tried to move towards the man, but her feet only carried her closer to the roaring. The man yelled something out, and she tried to turn back, but she kept moving forward. The air was filled with combatting sobs of the man, and the unholy shrieks of the beast. Wings flapped, and in her dream she raised the sword above her head, and looked deep into angry, purple eyes. 

“Well well, what have we here?” Aliah jolted awake as her pillow moved, and looked around for the voice’s owner. She stretched, and frowned, patting her bed for- armor? There was no bed, or room, for that matter. There were only trees, dirt, and… Ser Alistair. He was halfway to standing, sword drawn, a travelling cloak falling from where it had been wrapped around his waist. Last night’s fire lay untended, cold save for a few persistent coals. It was barely morning, the only thing separating it from night was the dull grey that promised a brilliant sunrise.She blinked, looking along Alistair’s sword to see who it was pointed at.

“Stay back, or I will cut you down, witch.” The woman could certainly be described as such, glossy black hair twisted into a bun, piercing yellow eyes, and questionable attire,especially considering the temperature. 

“You threaten me, knight? ‘Tis my land you camped upon, you ought to be thanking me for my hospitality.” Her voice seemed to have a permanent, sarcastic drawl, making it difficult to understand if she was joking or not. Alistair drew his lips into a hard line, knuckles white around his sword. 

“And what of you, girl? Do you agree with your company? Or do you believe in civility?” Aliah stared, then remembered her manners. A witch was still a person, in the end. 

“Apologies. My friend and I lost our bearings, I’m afraid. We found ourselves in unfamiliar woods, with the night growing near. Had we known these were you lands we would not have lingered, my lady.” The woman (witch?) smiled, and turned to face Aliah fully.

“At last, some manners! Yet, you are unwise to make your camp so close to the Wilds. Had Mother not pestered me into watching over you, any manner of beasts might have decided to have you for their evening meal.” Alistair coughed and pointed his sword in the woman’s direction. She ignored him.

“The Wilds? Surely not the Korcari Wilds?” Aliah attempted to make eye contact with Alistair. If they were in the Wilds, it would be at least two days of solid travel, if not longer, before they reached anywhere even vaguely resembling Denerim. The woman gave her a pitiful smile. 

“Unless you know of any other Wilds in Ferelden, yes. Do not fear, you are not too far in, using guesswork, you are at least half a day’s travel from Lothering. I shall escort you to the edge of the Wilds, for even with such a well polished sword, the Wilds have a way of confusing event the most-” She paused to look disdainfully at Alistair. “- _ skilled _ of navigators.” Aliah stood, and offered a small curtsey, at which Alistair scoffed. 

“You are most hospitable, we would be foolish not to take advantage of such an offer, Lady…?” 

“Simply Morrigan will do, I am no lady.” Aliah nodded. 

“In that case, I am simply Aliah, and he is simply Alistair.” At the mention of his name, he jumped. 

“You can’t just give away our names! For all we know that’s all she needs to control us, for… nefarious purposes.” He narrowed his eyes, but sheathed his sword, gathering the fallen cloak, blushing slightly as he packed it away. They stamped out any last feeble coals, and saddled their horses. “Besides, how is she going to come with us? She’s not riding behind me, and I don’t trust her with you.” 

“Surely she can decide for herself if I am untrustworthy? Regardless, ‘tis no trouble, I shall not be holding your hand until we reach Lothering.” 

“Unfortunately, it is his job. How then, shall you be travelling, Lady Morrigan?” The queen had told Aliah from a young age that even if a woman wasn’t actually of nobility, addressing her as ‘Lady’ on her own property would often always result in getting in her good graces. This strange woman was no exception to this rule, evidently. She seemed to stand taller, and rolled her shoulders casually, as if preening. 

No reply came, but in response, Morrgian smiled, and her skin began to glow. Aliah took a step back and stood closer to Alistair. “Magic.” They said, at the same time, Aliah with childlike wonder, as soft particles of light split from Morrigan, Alistair with distrust, as that form began to shrink. In a matter of moments, the light faded, and in Morrigan’s place sat a raven. It stared at them with beady eyes before cawing, and alighting on a branch a few metres ahead. 

“She’s going to kill us.” 

“If she had wanted to do that, I’m sure she wouldn’t have introduced herself beforehand.” Alistair nodded, but when they mounted he sat in the lead, hand not moving from his sword’s pommel. As they neared the raven’s perch, it cawed again, and flew to another tree, even further along. Aliah shrugged, and urged her horse to follow, ignoring Alistair’s grumbling. 

As it turned out, they were approximately one hour inside of the forest, and it didn’t take long for the thick rows of trees to thin out, and for a path made only by animal tracks to turn into a more manufactured dirt path. When the trees became sparse enough that the sky could easily be seen, Morrigan began to fly leisurely in front of them, circling around their heads every so often, which seemed to serve no purpose other than setting Alistair on edge. He hadn’t stopped grumbling under his breath since they had set out, and after two hours it was beginning to grate on Aliah’s nerves. 

“Ser Alistair?” 

“You know, at this point I think it might be okay just to go with Alistair, my lady.” 

“Then you ought to call me Aliah, ser.” 

“It doesn’t work like that.” 

“Doesn’t it?” Ahead, Morrigan cawed, and flapped down to settle on a rotting fence at the side of the path. When they reached her, she reverted, patting down her skirt to free it of a few stray feathers. 

“Across this hill, not thirty minutes away, you will find yourself along the Old Imperial Highway, it should lead you straight to Lothering.” 

“What? Just like that?” Alistair asked, somewhat incredulously. “You haven’t decided to make us into stew? Or will you only do that once our backs are turned?” Both Morrigan and Aliah glared at him. 

“You have been most kind, Lady Morrigan. Should you ever find yourself in Denerim, you will be welcome at the castle.” Morrigan raised her eyebrows, and Alistair’s eyes seemed to bulge out of his head. 

“You’ve got to be kidding, inviting some-  _ apostate witch  _ into the castle? Not to mention she knows how to find you now-” 

“A most gracious invitation. It was no trouble, especially with such an easily flustered companion. I shall refrain from making any stews from human remains, I am not my mother, after all.” She attempted to curtsey, an imitation of the courtesy offered to her, and wasted no time in transforming back into a raven, leaving both princess and knight standing by the road, standing in the vague direction of Lothering. 

“At least that’s over, thank the Maker.” Alistair rolled his shoulders and raised his eyebrows, nodding further down the road. “Shall we?” He turned back, to watch Aliah where she was standing still, arms crossed, eyes doing that dreaded squint. “What? We need to get going, what are you standing around for?” 

“You could have been nicer to Morrigan.” He rolled his eyes in an exaggerated movement. 

“She was a complete stranger who could turn into a  _ bird _ . I was just exercising the proper amount of caution.” 

“Maybe so, but you could have at least thanked her for setting us back on the right path! It was  _ your _ fault we got lost at all,  _ ser. _ ” 

“And I  _ am  _ sorry about that! But I won’t apologise for doing my job and keeping you safe!” 

“Oh, okay, so if you hadn’t decided she was a witch and pointed your sword at her she would have turned us into toads? Is that it?” Alistair’s shoulders fell, her arguments were fair, but it was hardly his fault for taking his job seriously. 

“Look I- I’m not going to apologise for taking my job seriously.” Aliah stayed still, indignant. “My dear lady, I do suggest we depart for Lothering, lest we lose another day to this unfortunate detour, of my own making.” He bowed for good measure, and extended his hand out to her. She huffed and stalked past him, ignoring the hand. 

“Dickhead.” And she was right, but arguing wasn’t going to get them any closer to Denerim. 

Morrigan had been correct, however. As they crested the hill, a collection of small houses at the edge of verdant farmland could be seen, the outskirts of Lothering. 

Lothering was quiet, save for the self righteous Chanters preaching the Maker’s glory. Children played in the distance, running amongst the fields, black hair glinting in the sunlight as the tallest led them in what appeared to be a pretend battle, stick for a sword. A woman with greying hair watched them from the shade of a windmill, patching a shirt with practiced hands. The centre of the village was marked by a small tavern, where two tipsy men leaned against a wall, foreheads touching as they whispered, too quiet for others to hear. Aliah immediately headed there, Alistair following hesitantly. 

“I want to see if there’s any news from Denerim worth gossiping about, and we need food.” She supplied, when he raised an eyebrow. “That’s what taverns are for, right?” 

“Have you ever… been in tavern?” He thought back to nights with the militiamen, and he couldn’t see Aliah blending in, even in travelling clothes, especially not in a tavern likely filled with farmers. 

“Of course! I used to go with Tomas and Anora to the Gnawed Noble on summer evenings! It can’t be too different.” Alistair winced. He’d forgotten how  _ sheltered _ noble children could be. The Gnawed Noble was less a tavern, and more a ‘fine establishment’. Even the  _ Gull and Lantern  _ looked seedy in comparison. 

“Perhaps I ought to do the talking?” He suggested, quietly enough that she could ignore it if she so desired. She did not. 

“Why? Is there something wrong with my voice?” Alistair was undecided on whether she was playing up the upper-class Denerim accent as a joke or not. The men outside had moved, and 

were now getting a little more intimate by the door. Aliah cleared her throat, to no avail. She started again, but was cut off by a gasped moan. Lovely. “Excuse us, gentlemen, but may we pass through?” Alistair wanted to cry, if that was how she intended on speaking to people, they weren’t going to get anywhere. 

“Hey! Take it somewhere else!” He barked, summoning the authority of a self-important guard captain. This time, the couple broke apart, still connected by a string of saliva. Gross. One of them offered a sheepish grin, which neither Aliah or Alistair returned, and they staggered off. “Shall we?” He opened the door, wrinkling his nose at the smell of ale and rotting wood. Aliah coughed as she stepped inside, glancing at Alistair. “This, my lady, is a real tavern.” 

It was dark, slightly damp, and smelled. An old man stood behind the bar, cleaning the grimy surface with an equally grimy cloth. A young woman plucked sombrely away at a lute, whispering the lyrics rather than singing them. There weren’t many patrons, most of the village were still in the fields, sowing and plowing until the light faded. A man with his arm in a sling was halfheartedly watching the lutist, stirring a bowl of stew, occasionally lifting the spoon to his lips. Two elderly women were engaged in a heated, whispered debate, that seemed to involve the lutist and the man. A small boy was whittling a stick into a sharp point with a small knife, tongue stuck out in concentration. 

Alistair guided Aliah to the bar, and waved the old man. 

“Two ales, and whatever food you have that isn’t that stew.” He slid over an assortment of copper and silver in response tot he old man’s grunt of affirmation, then pulled up a chair at a nearby table, Aliah following in suit. 

“So, what’s the plan from here?” Alistair sipped his ale, and shuddered, at least it wasn’t poison. 

“Get directions for the fastest route to Denerim, then see if we can find out if anything happened during our unplanned absence. Might as well get some supplies as well, if we can.” Seemed simple enough. He glanced around the tavern. 

“Alright, who are we asking?” The man in the sling seemed to be a lost cause, as did the woman on the lute. The owner didn’t seem too talkative, despite his profession. 

“I was hoping we could eavesdrop and learn some scandalous secrets, as well as our desired information, then leave before anyone was none the wiser, like in the Orlesian stories.” 

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to work. We’re going to have to actually you know, talk to people.” Aliah nodded. By some stroke of luck, a woman from behind the bar delivered some buttered bread rolls to their table, and Aliah straightened up. 

“Excuse me, ma’am, but have you heard any news from the capital of late?” She receieved an incredulous look. 

“I could ask you the same thing, seems like you’d know more about it than me, miss.” 

“Oh, I just thought-” 

“Look, we don’t get many folk from the big cities here. There’s been a few lads in fancy armor up from Redcliffe, ask them, up at the Chantry.” 

“To the Chantry, I suppose.” Alistair mumbled through a mouthful of bread. 

The Chantry was situated across a small bridge, a short distance from the tavern. 

“So, are we going to march in and ask the Revered Mother if she could pretty please tell us how to get home, because we are so hopelessly lost, or…?” Alistair triled off, looking at Aliah expectantly. 

“We’re not lost, more, lacking in direction, I would say. We’ll ask for the quickest route, but let her know that any news would also be appreciated.” She wrinkled her nose as they passed a Chanter, who happened to be partway through a particularly damning verse about mankind’s folly. “I worry about mother alone in the castle, even with Ser Gilmore.” 

“The queen is a strong woman, I’m sure she’s fine.” Alistair opened the door, right into the face of a heavily armored man. 

“Ser Bryant?” Aliah recognised him before Alistair, eyes wide. A man on the youthful side of middle age stared back, the crest of Redcliffe emblazoned upon his chest. 

“Princess-” He bowed to her, supplying Alistair with a respectful nod, failing to hide the shock in his voice. “-forgive me but, what brings you to Lothering? You ought to be at the castle.” 

“Ser Alistair and I were visiting the outer villages, but we lost our way. I thought to ask the Revered Mother for a quick route, I wouldn’t want to cause any panic back home.” Ser Bryant blanched, and visibly swallowed. “Is everything all right?” 

“I-would not wish to be the bearer of, unfortunate news, but a messenger came by not long ago, I’m afraid.” 

“Afraid? What for, kind ser?” He raised his hand, which was holding a crumpled letter. 

“A missive from the Arlessa, recalling me to Redcliffe.” He handed the paper over, hand trembling slightly. 

_ Ser Bryant,  _

_ I hope this message finds you in good health, and well on your path to recovering the Ashes. My husband’s condition has not changed, but in conflict with my initial orders you, and any company indentured to the arling of Redcliffe, are to return to the castle, effective immediately, following the untimely deaths of Kind Bryce Cousland, and his son, Crown Prince Fergus Cousland. Any expenses related to the unexpected nature of your return will be reimbursed by the arling.  _

_ Signed,  _

_ Isolde Guerrin, Arlessa of Redcliffe. _

Aliah folded the paper silently, handing it to Alistair to read. She drew her lips into a hard line, and inhaled deeply through her nose. 

“My lady, if there is any assistance I can grant to aid you-” 

“Thank you ser, but that won’t be necessary. I pray you reach Redcliffe safely.” Alistair had the sense to stay quiet, folding the paper once more before returning it to Ser Bryant.

“I would keep off the West Road, before long it will be swarming, and I could not guarantee your safety. There is an old trade route that cuts through the Bannorn, you should not be disturbed on it.” 

“If we leave now, and don’t stop, we can make it back to the outskirts of Denerim’s arling by next morning.” He brushed Aliah’s hand with his, leaving it there when she gripped it. 

“Very well. I trust you will keep the princess safe, ser, all things considered. Ser Bryant glanced down to where their hands were joined, but said nothing, bidding them a swift farewell.

Alistair led Aliah to their horses, resting beneath a tree not far away, grazing peacefully. In silence, they mounted, and set off at a trot for the road Ser Bryant had mentioned. He took the lead, and thought to joke that this time, he’d stay awake, but when he chanced a glance to Aliah,he saw a stony face soaked with silent tears, and turned back to face the road. 


	5. Return

They rode in relative silence, Alistair calling out every so often for a break, so they horses could rest. While they waited for their steeds to recover, Alistair would survey the surroundings, to try and ascertain whether or not they were on the right path, ultimately give up, and then call to move on. The night was cold, but the light of a full moon permitted the most basic of visual cues, turning the world into a blur of greens, silvers, and inky blacks. He tightened his grip on the reins, doing his best to ignore the shaking of his hands. 

The king was dead. The prince was dead. But that wasn’t what mattered. Aliah’s father and brother were dead. Her family. And now her mother was alone in the castle, a solitary queen to deal with the aftermath. But she couldn’t rule, she wasn’t of Cousland blood. Her claim to power was shaky at best, and would seem desperate at worst. The news would spread quickly from Ferelden and the Free Marches, and soon local powers would be the least of their worries. The Prince’s son still lived, but he would be too young to rule truly, a boy of eight. The only living person with a legitimate claim to the throne was riding behind him. Aliah was next in line. In fact, despite not being coronated, she was, by all rights, the queen. 

“Oh.” He breathed into the night, a puff of fog dissipating into the air. He turned to look at her again, trying to picture her with the crown, sitting upon the throne, in between the carved mabari. Their eyes met, whites reflected in the moonlight. She was rigid, lips pursed, eyes tired. 

“I’m sorry.” Was all he said, but he knew it was the right thing to say when her posture sagged, and her hands relaxed on the reins. 

“Thank you.” 

After a long night, the sun rose to illuminate the farms that dotted the outskirts of Denerim. The horses, exhausted, but excited to be close to home, were all too eager to break into a canter, ears flicking forward in excitement. The stable boys ran to greet them, relieved to see both horse and human returned. 

The moment the castle came into view Aliah dismounted and broke into a sprint, travelling cloak gathered in her fists. Alistair jogged awkwardly after her, armor clanking with each step. They reached the courtyard, panting and out of breath, but Aliah strode on, towards the entrance hall. The large, oaken doors opened from the inside, revealing Ser Gilmore. 

“Where is Mother?” Aliah managed, through shallow breaths. 

“In the garden, my princess. Where have you been?” He ushered them inside, brow knitting in concern. The halls of the castle were far from quiet, they bustled with activity, and a constant, low level chatter filled the rooms. A collection of ladies-in-waiting Aliah didn’t recognise hurried past, arms full of linens, and several guardsmen were deep in conversation with members of Denerim’s own militia. 

“Who are these people?” 

“Extra security, offered by the Arl of Amaranthine.” Aliah’s lip curled. 

“Howe?” The image of a slimy, grey haired man sprang to mind, a permanent sneer fixed upon a face that reeked of entitled disdain. 

“We need the insurance, especially since the crown has been… compromised.” 

“You can say dead, Ser Gilmore.” The knight winced and glanced at her as they rounded a corner.

“I wasn’t aware you-” 

“Just take me to my mother, ser.” Ser Gilmore nodded, slipping into silence as they travelled through the castle. Aliah took note of each new face, all of whom seemed far too comfortable in  _ her  _ castle.

“There’s too many of them.” She whispered over her shoulder to Alistair. He only nodded in response, face unnaturally serious. 

The sunlight was blinding as they stepped out into the gardens. Birds sang in the trees, butterflies flitted between flowers, and the air was pleasantly warm. It was too cheerful. The queen wasn’t in the rose garden, as Aliah had thought, but rather underneath a tree, sitting quietly, eyes focused somewhere in the distance. Aliah nodded in thanks to Ser Gilmore, and he returned inside. She motioned for Alistair to wait, and crossed the gardens, to the bench. The queen gave no sign that she noticed her presence. 

“We got lost.” Was all Aliah said. There was no response. “We travelled too far south, by mistake. Past Lothering.” She took her mother’s hand and massaged it gently, following her mother’s gaze to look at the distant hills. “On the way back we met Ser Bryant, of Redcliffe. He had a message from Lady Isolde.” The hand tensed. “We came back as fast as we could. I shouldn’t have left you alone, Mother.” The queen removed her hand from her daughter’s gently grip, and settled it in her lap. “Do you-do we know how-” Aliah’s voice cracked, and she looked at her mother’s face, pleadingly. “Mother, Howe’s men outnumber us in the castle, you must know how this looks it-” 

“The envoy was attacked as soon as they landed, just outside Kirkwall, in a port near the Wounded Coast.” 

“Oh.” 

“Only one body was recovered,” Aliah tensed. It was like she was reading from a letter, detached. “The whereabouts of Prince Fergus Cousland are unknown, but it can be assumed he met a similar fate.” 

“I see.” The queen turned, red rimmed eyes meeting Aliah’s.

“Arl Howe is here to help, dear. Ferelden has no leader.” 

“Can we trust him?” 

“As much as your father did.” Aliah bit back a response, and opted to nod. The queen turned back to watch the horizon. “Our guests will be joining us for a banquet this evening, do come.” 

Aliah looked back at Alistair, who was scuffing the dirt with his boot. He stood straight as she approached. 

“I am returning to my rooms, try and get some rest before the evening, ser.” She marched off, leaving Alistair to return to his duty of trailing behind her. 

He followed until the doors of Aliah’s rooms were shut behind her, and he turned to face the hall, standing guard by the door. What he wouldn’t give for a chair, or even a simple stool. He was pretty confident he could still swing a sword while sitting down, at the very least. But alas, he had a job to do. Aliah was next in line, even if would only be to serve until her nephew was old enough. The events of the last 24 hours replayed over and over in his head, as he tried to glean some kind of meaning from them. Eventually, a guard came to allow him his lunch break, which he gratefully accepted. He staggered to the barracks, adrenaline wearing off, and fell into his bed into a warm, deep sleep. When he woke, roused by the bustle of preparation for the evening banquet, he felt the lingering effects of dreams filled with small smiles and warm, brown eyes. He shook his head, and buckled himself back in his armor, and headed towards the main hall, ready to stand in the background while Aliah did her noble thing with all the other nobles. He ran his hand over his face and through his hair, and headed out. 

The main hall was lit with far more lanterns than usual, and the large fireplace held a large, roaring fire. The effect was suitably cozy for the cool night, if not somewhat hazardous. An assortment of heavy soups, meats, breads, fruits and cheeses lay across a long table that stretched the span of the hall. Ladies-in-waiting darted in and around the throng of lesser nobles, retrieving drinks and trading gossip. Ser Gilmore stood amongst some of the other senior knights near the front of the room, in front of the throne. Tonight, it was empty. The queen sat on her smaller throne, to the left, with Aliah behind her. They were engaged it what Alistair guessed to be an intense, whispered argument. He sighed, rolled his shoulders, and kept to the walls as he made his way over. 

“-I’m not going to talk to him just because he’s your friend’s-” Aliah’s mouth snapped shut as Alistair approached. 

“My lady,” He bowed to Aliah first, then to the queen. Neither of them seemed to take much notice of him. Aliah met his eyes, but glanced away, before turning back to the queen. 

“My dear, you must be seen with  _ someone,  _ it would boost morale.” The queen hissed, looking into the audience, and beckoning to someone Alistair couldn’t see. Aliah huffed, but didn’t move. 

After a moment, a dignified women with greying hair broke free from the crowd, a young, red haired man on her arm. She guided him to stand in front of the throne, curtseying deeply. 

“Lady Landra, it is good to see you.” The queen said, greeting the woman as an old friend. 

“It has been too long, dear Eleanor.” Lady Landra pushed the young man to the front, where he bowed deeply. “And of course this is-” 

“Dairren?” Aliah cut in incredulously, pushing past her mother to get a better look at the newcomer. 

“Aliah, it seems the years have been kind to you.” And what happened next made Alistair’s blood boil. This ‘Dairren’ had the nerve, the absolute gall, to bend down, gently take Aliah’s hand, and brush his lips against her fingertips. Alistair bit down on his lip, hands curling into fists. This was…  _ highly  _ inappropriate. Unfortunately, Aliah didn’t seem to share his opinion, as she blushed and smiled sweetly. He sniffed and rolled his shoulders back, it was hardly any of his business which nobles the princess decided to pursue, so long as their intentions weren’t… murder-y. 

Much to his disdain, the rest of the night passed without Dairren leaving his sight. He had a habit of hanging off Aliah’s arm like a decoration. A handsome, charming decoration, that seemed to make Aliah blush and giggle a whole lot. It was disgusting to watch, actually, now that Alistair came to think of it. Young love, and all that. Yet, he was sworn to protect the princess, so he followed them around the room, only frowning slightly when Dairren kissed her on the cheek. He was a little confused as to how she could go from morning the deaths of her brother and father to flirting at banquet, but at least she wasn’t crying anymore. Alistair did like to see her happy, at least. 

As the numbers of the crowd began to dwindle, and the dining table was beginning to look bare, Aliah approached him. 

“I’m uh- going to  _ retire  _ to my rooms, ser.” In between the time he realised Aliah was talking to  _ him  _ and beginning to wonder what she meant by ‘ _ retire _ ’, she was already halfway to the door. He hurried to catch up, dodging the few drunken attendees that still lingered. At the door she turned to him, her eyes slightly unfocused. 

“I  _ might  _ have a visitor, so to be so kind as to let him in, and not be so frowny, Ser…” She trailed off, squinting as she looked at him. 

“Alistair?” He offered, wincing. 

“Yeah,” She responded, already closing the door. 

\---

Alistair shifted from foot to foot, wringing his hands outside Aliah’s room. Dairren had gone inside not one hour earlier, looking rather pleased with himself. Alistair couldn’t place the reason why, but he did so desperately want to hit the red headed noble, which was rather out of character for him. It had nothing to do with how easily Dairren could relate to Aliah, having been raised a coddled noble, or the way he’d kissed her hand when they met. It certainly had nothing to do with the way Alistair’s ears burned when he remembered how her fingertips had brushed against the nape of his neck as she’d clasped the necklace, or the memory of her head cradled in his lap. That was irrelevant of course, and completely unprofessional. He was a knight, and she was… his charge? His boss? She’d told Morrigan they were friends, but that hardly seemed correct. Or was it? She had comforted him in Wutherford, and even gotten him a gift, surely that wasn’t something all noble women did. Maybe they were friends. That was better than he could have hoped for, especially when she’d first glared at him barely a week ago. But then again, as he remembered her crossed arms on the way to Lothering, perhaps they weren’t friends. Maybe it was just pity, at a fresh knight who cried thinking about things that had happened years ago. 

The whole ‘Wutherford Incident’- as he’d taken to calling it- had been nothing short of a fiasco. He’d barely slept the night before the departure, checking the horses’ tack repeatedly, much to the annoyance of the stable boys. Then he’d tossed and turned, imagining all possible outcomes, although it was the ones in which they were attacked by bandits and Aliah was kidnapped and held for ransom that he focused on. And then, once he’d bled that beast dry, it was time to compose a speech about how he really ought to be hanged for failing to protect the princess. Alistair wasn’t sure if they still did hangings in Ferelden, but in his imagination he had made a very convincing argument. 

A muffled laugh leaked through the thick walls, snapping Alistair back to his post. He was grateful for that, at least. Not the laughter of course, he hated to think they were having an enjoyable time. No, the thick walls were what pleased him. They stopped most sounds, although occasionally something would leak through, like someone laughing at what was probably a great joke. So long as no other  _ sounds  _ found their way to Alistair’s ears, it was alright. Yet, that was not what the Maker had planned, so it seemed. There was a loud thud, and muffled speech, but it was impossible to tell the context. Maybe they’d dropped a particularly hefty wheel of cheese, or decided to throw some chairs around. The activities of nobles behind closed doors were hardly any of his concern, even if a light pink dusted his cheeks when he thought about Dairren’s lips across Aliah’s skin. Bastard. There was relative silence next, but by this point he had decided to strain his ears in an attempt to pick up any semblance of conversation. Unfortunately, hinges groaned as the door creaked open, and he straightened up to avoid suspicion. He attempted to blend into the hallway, aiming to be as innocuous as an old painting or wall sconce. A moment later, Dairren slipped out, and caught Alistair’s eye. He looked just a little debauched, clothes crinkled, lips slightly swollen. Alistair settled for a curt nod, which was returned with the same level of cold professionalism. 

“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you, ser knight.” Alistair swallowed, and provided another silent nod. Well. That answered what exactly nobles did behind closed doors. Dairren walked off, disappearing down the dim corridor. It was getting late, the sun having set a few hours ago. Soon, one of the castle’s guards would relieve him, and he would go to the barracks, eat a small meal, and let sleep deal with his racing mind. Except, he didn’t feel like doing that. Aliah was still inside, possibly vulnerable, and he couldn’t trust someone else to do  _ his  _ job. Although, come to think of it, he hadn’t been doing a great job, so he could hardly judge someone else’s aptitude. Still, it didn’t feel right. So when a man in splintmail marched to his post by the door, Alistair turned him away and steeled himself, preparing for a long night. 

In the first hour, a servant would scurry by every so often, carrying this, cleaning that. He hadn’t noticed them much before, slight and discreet, despite being the reason the royal family didn’t live in squalor. In the second hour, midnight, all activity slowed to a stop. Candles burned low, and Alistair shook his head, shaking away any drowsiness. One of Arl Howe’s men strode past, stopped at the end of the hall, surveyed it, nodded, then disappeared. Maybe they did patrolling differently in Amaranthine. 

At the beginning of the third hour, Alistair jumped as Aliah’s door creaked, and a sliver of soft light highlighted the hallway. He glanced at the crack, then back down the hallway. 

“A-Alistair?” A head poked out, casting a shadow on the stone floor. Wide eyes locked onto his face. 

“My lady?” He responded, in a low voice. People  _ were  _ trying to sleep, after all. The sliver of light widened as the door was pushed open further. Aliah peeked out from behind the door, wrapped in a blanket, her hair falling across her face. A hand pushed it back, revealing bloodshot eyes. She looked exhausted. 

“Would you come in?” Alistair shifted his weight. 

“I’m not entirely sure if that’s appropriate-” He watched her face fall, and begin to scrunch up. “-But if you are inviting me, I suppose it is alright.” A small smile ghosted her lips, and Alistair found himself returning it. She slipped back behind the door, but left it open. He looked around the halls one last time, decided any potential assailants would have made their move by now, and followed her inside. The room was lit by a large fireplace, bathing everything in a soft, orange glow. Aliah’s bed was situated with the headboard against a wall, facing towards the door, a large chest at the foot. A small table with comfortable looking chairs, a vanity, and a few bookshelves made up the rest of the furniture. Aliah herself had already settled back onto the bed, sitting amongst a cocoon of blankets, only her face poking out. She glanced pointedly at one of the chairs, then again to the side of the bed. Dutifully, he moved the chair and sat, facing the bed, but keeping an eye on the door. There was an awkward silence, graciously filled by the crackling of the fire. Alistair yearned to ask what had happened, but thankfully he had more sense than that. 

“Sorry.” Aliah murmured, before nuzzling further into the blankets. 

“It is no trouble, my lady.” She nodded absentmindedly. 

“But it is.” He looked at her, vulnerable, quiet. It wasn’t like her. Their eyes met, and almost instantaneously Aliah’s began to fill with tears. Maker, but he was not qualified to deal with this, in any way. “Tell me a story?” 

“About the Warden?” 

“I didn’t hear the end. Only up to when the horde got to Denerim.” 

“It’s not exactly a feel good story, my lady.” 

“That’s okay.” 

“Very well. The four armies, Dalish, Dwarven, Redcliffe, and Templar, were united under Warden Mahariel.” 

“And Warden Theirin.” Alistair twitched. 

“Of course. They cut through the darkspawn, fending off wave after wave. But with each that fell, another took its place. This was the truth of the Blight, a never ending horde of beasts, killing, plundering, destroying. Houses were burning, buildings set alight indiscriminately. But they kept going, pushing to the heart of the city, to where the Archdemon, the corrupted Old God, lay in wait. When they reached the top of the tower, they could see the city burning beneath them, and the people fighting back. They’d come so far, from betrayal and devastating defeat, to the leaders of a united Ferelden. There is a lot of dispute over how long the final battle raged, some say it was over in a matter of minutes, the Warden plunging his blade into the beast’s neck, killing it in seconds, whilst others say it was a labor of hours, until the Old God recognised its match.” 

“Which do you think?” Aliah murmured, wide eyes watching him. 

“I- don’t know. I’d like to think the Warden was skilled enough to finish it quickly, but you can’t deny the appeal of a drawn-out battle for the fate of the world, can you?” Aliah hummed in response. 

“Regardless, of how long it lasted, it ends the same.” 

“He dies.” 

“Yes.” He paused, looking at his hands. There was a lull, a comfortable lapse in conversation. “Whilst-” 

“Did you hear that?” Aliah emerged partially from the blankets, suddenly alert. 

“Hear wha-?” Then he heard it too. Yelling. 

“The party has long since finished, it can’t be-” 

And then there was screaming. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh oh spaghettios


	6. Escape

Alistair stood, eyes fixed on the door. It was unmistakable now. Muffled screams and yells permeated the stone walls, and outside the window torchlight glowed, illuminating the night.  _ Not again _ , he thought, hand moving to rest on his sword’s pommel. 

“We need to get you out of here.” Aliah nodded grimly, shrugging away her blankets and stepping out of the bed, shivering as her bare feet touched the cool floor.

“Not until we check for survivors.” Alistair grimaced, there was no telling what the actual situation outside was, there might not be time. 

“We’ll have to be quick about it. But you know, if it’s between getting you out and saving a cook, I- I have a job to do.” This is what he was meant to do. Make the right calls to keep the princess safe. Aliah’s mouth hardened into a line, but she didn’t protest. 

“Just give me a moment.” 

“We might not have-” But she was already reaching under her bed, retrieving a heavy cloak and a- 

“Sword? Have you had that lying around this whole time?” 

“Yes.” It was a beautiful greatsword, silverite with beautiful, intricate carvings. The only thing was, it was huge, and might slow them down.  _ But I’m not about to tell her that.  _

“Can you use it?” 

“Sort of.” He shrugged, it might act as a deterrent at the very least. The sound of heavy, armored footsteps clunked behind the door, and Alistair drew his sword, and readied his shield, stepping in front of Aliah. “They’re close.” She whispered. There was shuffling and talking behind the door, then silence, save for the sound of sliding metal as Aliah drew her greatsword. 

“Whatever happens, stay behind me.” 

The door was flung open, and the second the opening was wide enough, an arrow flew through the gap, only to be caught by Alistair’s shield. Three guardsmen rushed in, two warriors and an archer, and Alistair inhaled deeply as he rushed to meet them. He’d been expecting a somewhat fair fight, one on one at the very least, but he was sorely mistaken. Both warriors met him, and it was by pure luck that he managed to knock the one on his left over with his shield. The other wasted no time in lunging forward, but he was slow. Alistair parried, hoping the other had kindly decided the blow was enough to fall unconscious, but there was no such fortune. He couldn’t keep his attention away for long however, as he returned to meet each blow. The men sent here were skilled, but as of yet he’d had no chance to check for heraldry, being all too busy trying not to be sliced and diced. He cringed as a heavy blow rained down upon his shield, but bashed the assault away, staggering the warrior. Alistair took the opportunity, spotting a chink in the armor, so to speak, and left the assailant gurgling. He spun around as he heard Aliah yelp, knuckles white as she struck the warrior on the ground in the forehead with the greatsword’s pommel, stopping them from rising. She provided a quick thumbs up before ducking as an arrow whistled past Alistair’s ear, thudding into the wall. The archer drew a shortsword, but it was clear her role was backup rather than one on one combat. Alistair struck her with the pommel of his own sword, ensuring she was out to it before rushing back to find Aliah. 

She was panting, gathering the long, impractical sleeves of her sleeping gown around her, sword resting on the floor. Swallowing loudly, she brought her eyes up to meet Alistair’s, and when she spoke it was a croaked whisper. 

“Howe’s men.” 

Alistair’s gaze fell to the shield of the unconscious warrior at Aliah’s feet. The painted bear leered back up at him. He nodded gravely, then held out his hand to the princess, who was already rummaging through the chest at the end of her bed. “Turn around.” Aliah commanded, Alistair did so without question, moving to stand near the door, sword and shield at the ready. “We have to leave, and soon. If these men don’t report back soon, Howe will send more.” 

“Where will we go?” Alistair whispered, hopefully loud enough. 

“Redcliffe. The Arl is a close ally, and has enough sway that we will be safe there, until we can work things out.” It seemed a solid enough plan, provided they made it to Redcliffe in the first place. 

Alistair jumped when he felt Aliah’s hand on his shoulder. He turned to face her, nodding his head towards the door in a wordless question. She wore soft leather armor, her hair tied back and her face grim, greatsword strapped to her back.

“Let’s go.” 

The hall outside was eerily quiet, devoid of soft snores and the chatter of servants. Alistair’s eyes fell on Oriana and Fergus’ room, the door of which was slightly ajar. “Are the candles lit?” Aliah asked, voice trembling slightly. Alistair shook his head, taking gentle note of how the princess’ shoulders sagged. 

They started down the hallway, Alistair in the lead, Aliah following, her hands balled in fists. As they reached the door leading into the courtyard, sounds of fire, fighting, and death returned to their ears. 

“In the kennels. Inside the cage furthest to the back, there is a trapdoor.” Alistair turned to listen, straining as Aliah whispered. “It comes out in the forests outside the castle.” He nodded and pushed the door open. 

The scene outside was chaos. People were running everywhere, the servants, their children, their families, all were running to find somewhere to hide. The night sky was turning red as smoke and embers curled and spat to cover the stars, flames licking across anything flammable. Flags bearing the Cousland crest fell into piles of ash, and the scent of burning flesh hung in the air. 

Alistair immediately pulled Aliah down behind a half wall, grimacing as they trampled a rose bush. “We’re going to have to run. We can’t stop for anyone, or anything, understand?” Aliah’s wide eyes reflected orange flames as she nodded. She sniffed and reached for his gloved hand, squeezing it tightly before releasing it, and standing. They run through the fleeing servants, ducking and swerving into any available nook or cranny at the first sign of armored footsteps. A few times they heard swords clashing, and caught glimpses of guardsmen in Cousland colours, but they numbered far too little. Alistair’s stomach churned as he willed himself away from thoughts of the other knights, and their weakened numbers after the King’s death. Other times they heard screams and pleading. During these times Alistair held Aliah’s arm, both to comfort her and stop her from running to her death. He had a job to do. 

The sound of dogs barking and growling grew louder as they approached the kennels, as the hounds, loyal to a fault, nipped at any passersby with scents unfamiliar. In a stroke of luck, the door was unattended, the mabari proving a nuisance, but tied up as they were they posed no real threat. Alistair opened the door and ushered Aliah in, watching with a sharp eye in case any of Howe’s men passed. He slammed the door shut, and breathed a sigh of relief. It had seemed all too easy, but it was best not to dwell on such thoughts. A few mabari paced in cages inside the kennels, whining and panting. He watched as Aliah approached one of the cages, almost falling as she was slobbered to death by Laurel. 

“We should open the cages,” she said, wiping her face. “Give them a chance to get out.” 

“So long as you can do it quickly, we have to leave. Now.” Alistair responded, moving away from the door. Aliah stood, petting Laurel gently on the head. “There’s a lever in the back that opens all of them, not far from the tunnel, we can let them go on the way out.” Aliah walked behind one of the cages and pulled away a mouldy rug, Alistair craned his neck to see a worn wooden trapdoor. 

“Help me open this?” Together they lifted the door, coughing at the cloud of dust as years of dirt fell from the top of the door. A steep, stone staircase led into a dark tunnel. 

“I don’t suppose you have any torches handy?” Alistair asked, grimacing into the dark. 

“Unfortunately not, we’ll have to feel our way out.” 

Laurel went first, tentatively descending pawstep by pawstep into the gloom, sniffing loudly. Aliah reached above the door and grunted as she pulled a rusted lever, causing iron bars to creak and groan as the mechanism lifted the doors of the cages. The dogs stuck their noses out tentatively, and Aliah motioned for Alistair to follow her into the tunnel. He scanned the room one last time before slamming the trap door shut behind them, leaving only darkness, and the cold, dank air of the tunnel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg hi long time no see quarantine really made me look back at a fic I haven't thought about in months will wonders never cease ! jk the real reason is I moved a whole ass country and then started uni but here we are! this chapter is a little dodgy since i haven't been in the dragon age or writing headspace for a while but feedback is appreciated! also if anyone wanted to beta *eyes emoji* anyways bone app the teeth


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